Call of the Nightingale
by CheekyLittleFoxy
Summary: Who knew a few choice words and three weeks apart would lead to a night of lust under the moon? Brynjolf X Reader LEMON
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: LEMON**

 **Smutty two-shot between Brynjolf and the reader. Enjoy!**

* * *

Heart pounding hard in your chest, you sprint across the snowy ground towards Nightingale Hall. You thought everything was okay when you came back from your special Windhelm job, but when Delvin told you Brynjolf and Karliah had rushed rather suddenly out of the Cistern, panic hit you, and you practically flew out into the streets of Riften.

You draw your daggers as you enter your secondary home, noticing the mess. Bookshelves have been tipped over, several chairs are in pieces, books and broken bottles are scattered all over the floor and - worst of all - red blood glistens on the stone.

You work your way methodically but quickly through Nightingale Hall, finding more chaos, more blood and four bodies along the way. Thankfully none are the bodies of your friends. When at last you come into the initiation room, you see the last of the bodies, along with Brynjolf and Karliah. Karliah is slouched on the floor, holding her hand to her stomach, a pained expression on her face. Brynjolf is stood next to her, preparing some bandages to cover the wound.

Instantly you sheathe your daggers, drawing their eyes your way. You drop down beside Karliah and summon a healing spell in both hands, then press them against her body. You let the magic flow from your fingertips, slowly knitting Karliah's skin back together. She smiles gratefully at you when you are done, but you can't find it within yourself to return it.

"What happened?"

She sighs. "From what I can tell, these bandits followed me to the Hall yesterday. I noticed they were waiting to ambush me, so I left to find you and Brynjolf before I could be overwhelmed. It was already in shambles when we arrived."

Guilt floods your system. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help. I-"

"You were helping the Guild make a name for itself again," Brunjolf interrupts, and you glance up at him, feeling the familiar misstep of your heart as your eyes come to rest on him. "You were busy, and it was nothing we couldn't handle."

"Still..."

"He's right," Karliah says, pushing herself to her feet. "Chances are it'll be rare for all three of us to be here at once. It's always been like that, and we've always managed."

You sigh. Karliah gives your shoulder a small squeeze, before turning around and moving down the corridor. You watch her go, wondering at her swift departure. You are about to follow when Brynjolf catches your elbow in his large, warm hand. A shiver goes down your spine, but you manage to hide it.

"Something wrong?" you ask.

Brynjolf huffs. "In a way," he grumbles.

"Oh?"

"You're playing games with my mind, lass."

You stare at him, confused. "What?"

He chuckles and tenderly tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, before cradling your face in his hand. You fight a blush at the action. "Your very presence drives me insane," he murmurs, pulling you closer so his lips are by your ear. Your body shudders at your close proximity, and the warmth of his breath and the almost seductive tone in his voice has you weak in the knees. "I can't think straight when you're nearby. You send my whole body ablaze." He exhales shakily, before drawing away quickly, eyes and hands clenched shut. He is turned away from you, and you can see a slight tremor in his body. A grimace flashes across his face, and for a moment you think he's in pain.

Then he turns on his heel and walks away. You do nothing to stop him, too shocked to do more than just stare at his fading form.

* * *

You can't keep him out of my head. You haven't seen hair or hide of Brynjolf since that day almost three weeks ago, and yet his words echo endlessly in your mind.

Taking refuge on the balcony of Honeyside helps only marginally, the crisp air successfully clearing some of the fog in your mind. For a while you are at peace.

Then the words come circling back to you.

With a wolf-like growl of frustration, you march down the steps of the balcony and into the forest surrounding Riften. You need a walk to clear your head. Unfortunately, you don't make it a hundred metres before thick arms wrap themselves around you, a warm hand covering you mouth to keep you from crying out.

You try to wriggle free, but he is too strong. A familiar chuckle meets your ear, halting your struggles.

"Brynjolf?"

His lips brush your shoulder when he speaks. "It's been a while, lass."

Oh that name. How you love that name. You hadn't realised until now how much you've missed it.

"You were avoiding me," you remind him sternly.

"I apologise," he murmurs, hands trailing south to grasp at your hips. A tremor shoots down your spine as his warm breath brushes against your neck. "I had some thoughts to settle."

"And meanwhile mine were going insane," you mutter back, your voice carrying none of the power you hoped it would.

Brynjolf hums. "Care to share, lass?"

"You're words won't leave me alone."

"A good thing I hope."

"No," you say quickly. "A bad thing. A very bad thing."

"And why is that?"

"Because you weren't here." You spin in his grip and practically throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck while your legs latch around his waist. Brynjolf's arms hold you securely against him, and his lips suddenly press against yours.

They are so soft and warm, and they move sensually against your own. You can feel desire writhing in your stomach. Desire for him. With a passion you didn't know you possessed, you grasp his red locks between your fingers and pull his head back, placing bites and licks and kisses along his jaw and throat, before circling back to his lips, where you promptly devour him.

His tongue traces your bottom lip, before slipping inside your mouth, only to find your own tongue waiting for it. You growl against him, battling for dominance. But he doesn't concede, and that causes heat to flare in your core. You're positively aching for him.

Apparently sensing your growing impatience, Brynjolf lowers you onto the cold ground, before beginning to undo the buckles on your armour. His skin gleams in the moonlight, and you can't help but gently stroke his face. His fingers pause, eyes moving to meet yours.

"You're beautiful," you breathe, brushing your thumb over his stubble. Brynjolf smirks and then places a kiss on the tip of your finger. It's strange how you can suddenly go from frantic passion to calm affection.

His head dips and his mouth finds yours again, softer this time, and slower.

Then suddenly he's working you out of your armour, each piece falling with a dull thump onto the ground. The cold of the night makes you shiver, but Brnyjolf doesn't give you enough time to complain. He sheds his own clothes until he's left in only his loincloth, before folding himself over you, his body radiating heat like a fresh fire. You shudder when his hands tickle your sides, brushing the very edges of your breasts.

Your own hands wander down to his loincloth, pausing when you feel his length, hot and rigid, straining against the material. With a wicked gleam to your eyes, you rip off his loincloth, revealing his member to the world.

You swallow at the sight before you. It is long and thick, and so tantalisingly close to your heat that you can already imagine it sliding in and out of you. A moan escapes your lips at the thought.

And all that blasted thief does is smirk at you. Then his mouth is by your ear again, whispering. "Get on your hands and knees."

You stare into his eyes, noticing his pupils are wide from lust. Shivering, you push him back from your body and obey him. You get on all fours, exposed to him, vulnerable and practically shaking with desire and anticipation.

Brynjolf starts to rub at your ass cheek, smoothing his hand over it. You whimper at the sensation, feeling your core grow even more moist, but you realise that your acquisition to his request has put him in charge. Brynjolf's the one in charge - he says what goes. And so you can only lift you ass up toward him, showing him how much you long for his touch.

"So eager," he growls, whilst spreading your ass cheeks with both hands, and you soon feel his stubble grazing your skin before he slowly runs his hot tongue over the wet entrance of your core. You moan at the sensation and can't stop yourself from grinding your ass into his face, wanting more friction. Before long Brynjolf is licking at your hole leisurely, his mouth becoming more and more greedy as his pace increases.

Suddenly, his mouth leaves you, and you let out a groan of conplaint, shivering as your core throbs with want. His voice, gruff from lust, reaches you.

"Touch yourself," he orders darkly. You shudder at the vulgarity of his words. After hesitating for a moment, you lower your torso onto the floor and lift one arm. Your finger begins to toy with your clit. The suddenness of the sensation causes a wave of pleasure to shoot through you, and you let out a loud curse.

Brynjolf groans at the sight of you pleasuring yourself, before starting to thrust his tongue in and out of your hole. The combination of his tongue and your finger has your body shuddering from pleasure. Unconsciously, you start to rub your clit faster, gritting your teeth as you feel a coil in your stomach tighten.

Then suddenly he moves his mouth away and pushes your finger off your body. You hiss, but don't have long to mourn the loss of his tongue; Brynjolf pushes you forward until your whole body is flat on the ground, and before you can even imagine what he's about to do he slams deep into you.

A burning sensation spreads through your belly at the rough intrusion and you scream out in pleasure. He penetrates so deep, and your walls stretch so deliciously around him. You've never felt anything like it before. You never want to feel anything else again.

"By the Nine, Brynjolf," you groan. "Move!"

He lets his body fall flat on yours and he starts to build a rapid rhythm, hammering into you, stretching you wide. The heat coming off of his body is burning your skin, but it feels so good against the chill of the air. Your fingers dig into the dirt as you start to push your hips backwards desperately, meeting his thrusts.

Once again, his lips find your ear, whispering authoritatively to you. "You're mine. All mine." He then lets out a particularly arousing grunt. "Tell me how much you want this. Tell me what you want me to do to you. All. Night. Long." His last three words are each accompanied by a particularly harsh snap of his hips that almost has you fainting from the sensation that washes over you.

"Yes, yes," you grind out, eyes screwed shut as you feel that coil tighten once more. "Oh, Gods, Bryn! Do whatever you want to me but please stay inside me." You gasp. "You're so thick, so long." You both let out groans when he hits a particularly deep spot within your core. "Yes! Deeper Brynjolf!"

He complies, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, and suddenly more uncoordinated. He's close, just like you are.

"Mine," he growls, and before you can even think about responding, Brynjolf's deep groan fills your ears as he comes violently into you, his hot and sticky cum shooting into you. You feel each spurting like an individual thrust and it makes that coil in your stomach snap. Hard.

You yell out his name several times as he continues to pound into you, riding out both your orgasms. At long last his arms fail, and he collapses onto you, not yet withdrawing from your still pulsating core.

After a few more minutes he slowly rolls off of you, making you twitch when his now limp member brushes against your sensitive clit. He gathers you in his arms and holds you close, burying his face in your hair.

"Best night of my life," he murmurs, voice muffled.

Somehow you find the energy to laugh, though it is noticeably breathless. "Best night of your life so far," you correct, before placing a kiss on his forehead and allowing sleep to claim you.


	2. Chapter 2

There is no other way of saying it; Brynjolf is being coy. Ever since that night in the woods, he's been making subtle comments which give nothing away to anyone else. But you are not just anyone. And each comment that has reference to that night sparks three main emotions in you - annoyance, embarrassment, and something darker. Lust.

That night was only the beginning and you know it. And yet you can't help but resent that blasted thief for making your knees weaken and your heart stutter in your chest with each stupid comment he makes.

Eventually, they become too much.

You devise a simple but fool-proof plan. You leave the Cistern in a rush, feigning anger, knowing that Brynjolf's curiosity will force him to follow you.

After that, the plan is simple: ambush.

You open the door to Honeyside, slamming it behind you for effect. You rather rudely relieve your housecarl from her duty, telling her you'll come back to request her when she's needed. Confused, she does as ordered.

After that you go around the house, systematically dousing each of the candles until there is just one left on by your bed. Then you stand by the door in the shadows, waiting eagerly for Brynjolf's imminent arrival.

It comes in the form of the sound of a lock turning. Brynjolf is a master pickpocket, but his lock picking skills are still enviable. Certainly, they are superior to yours. The door opens slowly and quietly, and then closes again equally so. The difference is there is now an extra presence in the room.

Brynjolf moves forward on silent feet, towards that single candle. Too late he realises it is a ruse as you launch yourself at him, making him stumble back, only to lose his balance when the backs of his knees hit your bed. He flops onto the mattress, and you tower above him, straddling his waist, a dagger pressing against his throat.

For a moment, he looks alarmed, but then it fades as recognition brightens his eyes and his usual cocky façade reappears.

"What are you doing here?" you snarl at him, sounding accusing even though it was your plan all along. But he doesn't know that.

"You looked angry, lass," he replies, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "I wanted to make sure you wouldn't tear the entire city apart. Or worse, yourself."

"And you thought the solution was breaking into my house?" you ask in feigned exasperation. You place your dagger on the bedside table, but don't move off him. "Do you have any idea how crazy those stupid little comments of yours have been making me?"

Brynjolf quirks an eyebrow and grins. "Oh yes, lass. It was what made it fun - that cute little temper of yours."

You scowl at him. "You're really pushing my buttons, Bryn," you tell him warningly.

"That was the plan."

When did his hands get there? They are resting lightly on the tops of your thighs, just below your waist. His thumbs gently stroke over the leather of your breeches. You can't feel it, but the fact he doesn't seem aware of the movements of his thumbs makes you question what is going through that mind of his.

Slowly, you lower your head down so your lips hover an inch above his, tantalisingly close, yet when he tries to close the gap, you pull back and shoot him a scolding look. His head settles back on the bed, eyes sparking with a dark desire. The desire for you.

"You have no authority over me, lad," you say quietly, mimicking his accent with the moniker. "I am the one who is the Guildmaster. Therefore I am in charge."

His gaze is smouldering as he murmurs, "So take charge," to you. He is giving you control. He's going to let you do whatever you want to him. Inside, you melt. Outside, you just give him a wicked grin.

One by one, you loosen the buckles of his armour, watching his expression eagerly. He is growing impatient, you can tell, but he does not go back on his word, and so lets you slowly undress him. The boots come off first, followed by his tunic. That leaves him bare chested.

Last time had been too erratic and quick for you to truly see him, and so now you let your eyes run over every detail of his torso. You mark each dip of muscle in your mind, silently admiring his solid six-pack. But he is not without marks. Several scars cover his torso, ranging from small and thin, to long and wide. With a feather-touch, you run your fingers over each one, wondering at the stories behind them.

Brynjolf shudders, the signs of his arousal already poking at his breeches, his skin hot to the touch. Your lips follow your hands, and you press loving kisses against each scar, starting with the one on his shoulder, finishing just above the line of breeches. The red-haired thief underneath you squirms slightly at the last one, your mouth now so close to his member.

You know what he wants you to do, and you will. But first you want to tease him, to stretch him to his limits. You undo the laces of his breeches and he lifts his hips to help you remove them. His underwear goes too, leaving him bare as the day he was born. You take a moment to admire his length like you couldn't before, and the fact it's already standing at attention sends a thrill of feminine power through you. You caused this. He is in your bed because of _you_.

You shed your clothes without ceremony before crouching in front of him again, a faint tremble in your body. You want him so badly you can hardly hold back.

A slow, mischievous smile spreads over your face, and Brynjolf lets out a desperate groan when you gently blow on his shaft, but don't touch it. A glance at his face shows his head is thrown back into anticipation, and his hands are already gripping the sheets tightly. For a moment, you marvel at the apparent power you hold over this man, before a particularly saucy voice in your head catches your attention.

Cautiously, you lay on long, languid lick on the underside of his member.

The response is instantaneous.

Brynjolf's hips jerk upwards of their own volition, and he lets out a low curse. Smirking, you start to slowly press at the lower half of his length with your fingers, before taking him in as far as your throat will allow. The sound Brynjolf releases is undeniably erotic, and it takes all the strength and will within you not to just ignore the foreplay and jump on him and ride him like there's no tomorrow. And you're sure he wouldn't fight you. But you want to tease him first, torture him. And so you probe at the head of his cock with your tongue, revelling in the way the thief beneath you twitches at the contact.

His breathing is growing louder and faster, and you can feel that his body is heating up as you swirl your tongue all over his hot length, noticing not for the first time how smooth he is. Your fingers dance elegantly along the bottom half of his member and his balls, heightening the sensations he's feeling.

When you feel the head of his cock expand in your mouth, you press your thumb against the underside of his length, hard, and Brynjolf loudly curses you to Oblivion as you stop his release.

"You're brutal, lass," he rasps, but you just shoot him a seductive smile, crawling up the refined length of his body, your own hovering less than an inch above his. The air practically fizzles with the lustful tension between the two of you.

"I know," you whisper in his ear, before running your tongue over the shell of said ear. A shiver runs down your red-haired thief's spine, and his hands grasp heavily at your waist.

"Ride me."

You almost faint at the command, and you're thankful you're already on your knees otherwise you're sure they would have just collapsed underneath you. But you just send a smug grin his way. "Did you never learn the value of patience, Bryn?" you ask him, quirking an eyebrow.

His face turns momentarily serious. Deadly serious. "All rules go out the window when you're involved."

And he's absolutely right.

You grab either side of his face, duck your head down, and kiss the life out of him. The passion surrounding you is electrifying; your kiss is all tongues and teeth, it is unrefined and sloppy, but it relays the messages you want to send each other. How much you mean to him. How much you care for him.

Then, suddenly, you sit up, your legs tucked underneath you. You don't remember when it happened, but you'd managed at some point to line your entrance with the hardness of his cock. You press down on his shoulders, hair falling on either side of your face, and gently lower yourself onto him.

Dirty moans escape both your lips as you slide ever-so-slowly down his length. The pressure his dick causes is heavenly, and you can feel your walls quiver around him in preparation for what is to come next. When he is fully sheathed inside you, you pause for a moment, and the two of you just stare into each other's eyes.

Then, slowly, you lift your hips up, pushing against him and shivering at the spike of pleasure it sends through you. You retract all the way up to his tip, before slamming back down again. Guttural moans escape your throats, and you repeat the actions.

You quickly pick up a frantic rhythm, and Brynjolf's hips find your pace after just a few seconds, snapping upwards to meet yours. The clash of bodies is thrilling and oh-so-incredibly arousing. You collapse forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, and you start to nibble on the shell of his ear.

A sharp intake of breath is the reaction, and suddenly calloused fingers are fiercely moulding your ass cheeks, drawing you closer to him with each controlled roll of your hips. Then, without losing connection, Brynjolf grasps your arms and flips you over, burying his face into your hair and increasing the pace even more. Your legs entwine themselves around his torso, and the new angle allows his member to penetrate deeper, and at an angle that causes white sparks to flash behind your eyes.

You can feel that coil tighten in your stomach, and your body begins to tremble as your orgasm builds. Brynjolf's hands are on either side of your head, keeping him from falling on you, and his head is thrown back, lips slightly parted. You grab the back of his head and force his lips to yours, just as you tumble over the edge. You scream against Brynjolf's mouth, and the added convulsions of your inner walls are enough to draw Brynjolf's own climax. He practically crushes you to him, still thrusting hard, riding out every drop of his release.

After a few seconds, he pulls his limp cock out of you, and then slumps onto the mattress beside you, body covered with a light sheen of sweat, eyes almost completely black, and breathing heavily. You gently run your finger over his cheek, and his tired eyes find yours.

An unsure smile crosses your lips. "Don't leave me," you beg. "Please, promise me you won't leave me."

He draws you tenderly into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. "Never, lass. I swear it."


End file.
